


Renaissance Woman

by accidental_optimism



Category: MAAS Sarah J. - Works, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Internship, Modern AU, abraxos is a doggo, actually quite a lot less, elide works two jobs, i don't know where this came from, i'm trash, lorcan is fucking drunk, manon knows karate, she writes savage opinion articles and pours beers, vernon is less of a piece of shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidental_optimism/pseuds/accidental_optimism
Summary: He smiled at her dopily. “You’re pretty.”She kept the frown on her face with a profound effort of will. “That may be so but we’re closing now, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”Elide works at her uncle Vernon's bar while she applies for internships at magazines. One night she serves unhealthy amounts of vodka to a certain mountain-sized individual. The next day she realises where she knows him from.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this idea came from, but it's fun to write (and hopefully to read?). To be honest with you I'm just setting up for more Elorcan fluff. I love that crap. This will probably only be a few chapters long, but if I'm taking too long to get to the point, I'm sorry!! Sometimes I can get overly wordy.
> 
> Otherwise, hope you enjoy!

Elide was in a hell of a lot of trouble.

She’d always known that working for her uncle was a bad idea, and now the universe had decided to prove it. 

It had technically started when she asked her uncle for permission to start applying for jobs. The prick had refused until she promised to work one shift a week in his bar, and that was how she had ended up pouring drinks behind the counter on Friday nights.

There goes your social life, Elide had thought as she walked out of Vernon’s office. Congrats.

“And Elide!” he’d yelled after her retreating back. “Don’t expect any special treatment!”

“You got it, boss,” she muttered. At least he couldn’t treat her any worse than anyone else, she supposed.

If she’d thought Vernon was a hard taskmaster at home, she was soon corrected. True, he treated everyone equally – equally badly, that is. While at first Elide had been eyed a little warily by the other staff, being Vernon’s niece and all, her acidic muttered comments and Vernon's utter lack of favouritism soon bought her their friendship, and she quickly developed a sense of fellowship with them. It was her idea to start playing pranks on him; subtle things, like moving all the tables an inch to the right every time he went to the bathroom. Or putting potting mix in his coffee.

And all the while, Elide had been applying for day jobs, ones that would use her sharp mind and that she wouldn't get bored of.

These jobs mainly included newspaper and magazine offices; she had a good idea of her own talents, and they lay in the area of quick thinking and wit, perfect for manipulation of the written word. One she particularly had her eye on was Renaissance Magazine. It was a magazine she’d always loved for its forthrightness and satirical humour, and they were offering internships to candidates whose lack of qualifications might otherwise affect their applications. She was pretty confident about this one. She hadn’t met the editor, but she’d exchanged emails with him and felt like they’d hit it off (as well as you can when you can’t see the other person’s face, of course).

The night before the list of chosen candidates at Renaissance came out, Elide had been working her customary Friday evening shift at Vernon’s bar. It had been a good night; the taps were flowing, the bar was bustling, no one had slapped her ass so far. She should’ve known it was too good to last.

Shortly after ten o’clock, a man had sat himself down at the bar and ordered himself a bottle of vodka. Normally, Elide would’ve looked a little askance at a guy ordering that much spirits for himself alone, but he was a big guy – huge, in fact – and anyway, she was still riding the wave of euphoric anticipation for tomorrow’s news. It was when he asked for a second bottle that she began to regret her absent-mindedness.

“Sir, I think you’ve probably had enough for tonight.”

He frowned at her. Holy shit, that was scary. “Hey, little girl,” he snarled. Was that a slight slurring she detected? And he didn’t have to bring her height into it. She knew she was fucking tiny, thanks. “I think I can decide that for myself.”

“No sir, I’m not allowed to serve you if you appear intoxicated.”

“Listen, I’ve had a fucking rough day, so if you could just—“

Vernon’s head appeared from around the doorframe of his office. “Elide, just give him the damn drink, okay?” he hissed. “We’re trying to run a business here, not an AA meeting.”

Elide was fuming, but she complied. The guy finished the bottle faster than should’ve been possible. When he ordered another one – he was definitely slurring a little now; even his gigantic frame couldn’t protect him completely from the effects of the spirits – Elide figured it wasn’t her fault if he got alcohol poisoning, and handed it over.

She was surprised he wasn’t dead by the end of the night. Bouncer-build or not, this man had probably consumed a keg’s-worth of vodka, and he was still conscious, although he was starting to look sleepy. She wondered why he needed to get drunk so bad. His face was harsh, as if he spent more time frowning than smiling, but as he got successively more drunk, the hard lines softened and his stony onyx eyes were half-concealed by heavy eyelids. Finally she had to tell him to stop again, this time because they were closing up.

He smiled at her dopily. “You’re pretty.”

She kept the frown on her face with a profound effort of will. “That may be so but we’re closing now, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

He folded his gigantic arms on the counter, lay his head down on them and looked at her sideways. ”Your mouth ‘slike…” He frowned, visibly struggling for the right word. Then he grinned again. “’Slike a flow’r!” Elide almost giggled at how proud of himself he looked. But seriously, what was she going to do with this guy? He looked like he weighed half a tonne. 

Five minutes later, Vernon stood beside her, staring at the behemoth snoring on his bar counter. “Uh… I guess… I can ask Richie and the new guy to help us get him into a cab… But you’ll have to ask him where he lives.”

Elide gaped at him. “This guy has drunk enough alcohol to kill a horse. Just… Look at him!”

Vernon scowled. “I’m looking. But we don’t have any other options. Wake him up.” And he strode off in search of the bouncers.

Elide swallowed. Then she took a deep breath, reached out a hand, and shook the sleeping man’s shoulder gently. Then more strongly as he groaned, but continued drooling on his sleeve. She really, really hoped he wasn’t one of those people who hit out when they were woken up. His hands were like baseball mitts.

He groaned again. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.” she said softly. “C’mon.”

“Wha—“

“We can get you a cab, but we need to know where you live. Hey—“ his eyes were drooping shut again “—your address. I need your address.”

He mumbled a number and street name, before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

She knew the street he’d named, and she knew what it meant. This snoring giant was very, very rich. Again, she wondered why he had wanted to drink himself into a stupor.

At that moment, Vernon had returned with Richie and Carl, the new guy, in tow. They’d all hauled him out into the street and flagged down a cab, and bid the guy, now drooling on the cabbie’s upholstery, a hurried farewell. They could breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, before finally closing up and heading to their respective homes. As Elide and her uncle rattled home in Vernon’s ratty old Ford, he admitted, staring ahead at the city street, that she’d been right about the vodka. Elide said nothing, knowing not to spoil this this once-in-a-lifetime moment. She did appreciate it though. Vernon had been a real bastard when she was younger, but he had started treating her a little better when she began to stick up for herself, and while she hadn’t forgiven him, exactly, she could still see how much he’d changed, and the potential he had to be a halfway-decent human being.

All-in-all, it had been a pretty okay evening, really. She fell asleep grinning, imagining the drunk guy vomiting into Vernon’s lap.

***

The list of Renaissance interns was out by the time she woke up the next morning, and she was on it.

***

The conference room was crowded, the group of interns conversing excitedly as they waited to be greeted by the editor of the magazine. Elide was sitting next to a wicked-looking girl called Manon, with the whitest hair she’d ever seen, and a sharper tongue than even Elide’s. In the past ten minutes, she’d learnt that Manon’s desire to write warred with a complete hatred for authority, that she was a black belt in karate and that she knew fifty different ways to kill a man. This wasn’t exactly where Elide had seen her morning going, but she was having a great time anyway.

A hush suddenly fell over the room as the door at the far side of the room opened and the secretary who had shown them all in entered, followed by a man in an expensive suit.

Elide’s stomach dropped to somewhere in the storey below them.

The man was immense, his shoulders straining at the fabric of his suit. His hard onyx eyes scanned the group, and he folded his baseball mitt hands together, clearing his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Renaissance. My name is Lorcan Salvaterre, and I’m your new boss.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More drunk Lorcan, more exasperated Elide. Features Elide's fairy garden and Dorian's rude hand gestures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I was planning to wait til Thursday but studying sucks™ so here's this stupidly long chapter. I wrote most of this after 1am. End me.

Holy shit, this was bad.

Elide ripped her gaze away from her boss, who was looking surprisingly well after his adventure last night, and fixed it firmly on the table in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Manon staring at her. Her new friend leaned in. “Do you…fancy him?” she whispered. “I tend to like them a little less—“ here she gestured expansively “—but it’s all personal taste—“

Elide groaned, drawing glares from several of the interns around them. Up the front of the room, Salvaterre – shit, his hearing was good – swivelled to stare at her.

“Are you quite finished over there?” Elide felt the heat rush to her face, and hunched her shoulders a bit. “Good. Now, as I was saying…”

He went on to outline their general jobs, ground rules and restrictions as interns, informing the group that each of them would be assigned to a senior member of staff to learn more specific skills. Then he called in a group of staff, introduced them, and read out the names of the interns assigned to each staff member. Manon was working under an older lady who looked as if she had already been partially mummified. Elide was assigned to the group working for Salvaterre himself. Oh boy.

“All right,” Salvaterre said. “Now you’ll have a short briefing with your staff member. And then you can go and enjoy the rest of your Saturdays.” True, the man looked like he was missing a crucial “enjoyment” gene, but Elide wasn’t fooled. She’d seen this guy down like fifty standard drinks and then drool happily on her uncle’s best shirt.

Salvaterre had an office right near the conference room – he had to be accessible, being the editor and all – so it wasn’t far to walk. Inside, Elide and two others, a blond girl and a dark-haired boy, spaced themselves at intervals around the walls of the small room, while the editor perched – if such a word can be used to describe such a monumentally large human being – on the front of his desk. Elide was fairly sure he was using up half the room’s air all by himself. He eyed the three of them. “Okay, so you three will basically be doing whatever work I need you to, and yes, that involves more menial tasks as well, like photocopying and getting coffee. I’ll also be teaching you the basics of being an editor, and showing you the stages that the magazine goes through before publication.” He checked his list. “Which one of you is Elide Lochan?”

Sighing inwardly, Elide spoke up. “That’s me, sir.”

“Ah.” He frowned, confronted with the groaner from earlier, she guessed – if he had remembered her from the bar that would be a very different expression. “All right, well, it says here that you can’t work Friday after four?” The way he said it was a question.

“Uh, yes, my uncle agreed to me getting this job only on the condition that I work Friday nights at his bar, when it’s busiest.”

The dark-haired boy snickered, but Salvaterre transferred the frown to him. “I don’t see anything particularly funny about that.” The boy visibly gulped. “Okay, Elide, while you’re an intern that should be all right, as long as you work extra on another day to make up for the lost hour. But just be warned that if you get a place here you’ll be expected to give up your other job.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Now… It looks like our time is up.” Indeed, his secretary was hovering at the door to the office. “Anna, tell them all that they’re free to go, but that I expect them here at nine o’clock on Monday morning.” He smiled at Elide and the others, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’ll see you three then too. Have a good weekend.” And with that they were ushered out.

***

The blonde introduced herself as Asterin when they met again on Monday morning. She was some kind of relative of Manon’s, and looked just as likely to beat the shit out of whoever crossed her. The dark-haired snickerer was Dorian, and he was all right once you got used to his perverse sense of humour.

“Shit, though, he’s fucking gigantic, isn’t he?” the boy whispered, once they were all seated at desks outside Salvaterre’s office, told to read the stack of old issues of Renaissance that he had dropped in front of them. “Just imagine how big his—“

“Oh god, I’d really rather not,” Elide muttered. “Think what it would do to our professional relationship.”

Asterin choked on her coffee.

***

Salvaterre came over to check on them a few times, but largely left them to themselves, which was good because Elide and Asterin were hard-pressed to maintain straight faces as Dorian gestured obscenely behind the editor’s back.

And so the week progressed, and they all settled into their positions. Even Dorian’s filthy jokes died down after a few days – never completely though – and Elide had certainly learnt a lot of new things by the end of the week.

On Friday afternoon, at four o’clock, Elide packed up her things and excused herself to Salvaterre. He nodded distractedly as he read over a scribbled draft, but when she turned to go he raised his head as if in afterthought. “When were you planning to make up that extra hour?” he asked.

“Um… Well, when would be a good time?”

“I work Saturdays, so you could come in at two, gives you time to sleep off your Friday night.”

Had he already forgotten that she worked Fridays? Actually, that was probably a good thing. “Okay… That will work, yeah. See you then?”

But his attention had already been reclaimed by the draft.

***

Elide was cleaning glasses when she saw someone take a seat in the edge of her vision. “I’ll be with you in a second,” she said, putting down her last glass and turning around. “Now, what’ll it—“

Oh, universe. It was Salvaterre.

He was scowling at his hands on the bar in front of him, but he raised his head to order. Elide found herself staring straight into the onyx eyes of her boss. And this time he recognised her.

“Elide…?” He looked about as dumbstruck as she probably did.

“Uh… Hi, sir.” She tried to regain her poise. “What can I get for you?”

He stared at her some more, and then the question seemed to finally get through to him. “What can you… Oh. A… A gin and tonic, thanks…”

He left the bar soon after that. Conscious this time.

***

Saturday was a nightmare. She’d forgotten to turn off her alarm, so she was woken at seven by her cellphone’s madly escalating alarm tone. She spent thirty seconds groping for the phone where it was plugged in to charge on the far side of her bedside table – before finally overreaching and falling out of bed onto the floor.

Vernon had used up the milk, and the bread had gone stale. You have not known true joy until you have gone shopping at nine o’clock on a Saturday.

She was white with suppressed anger by the time she got to the Renaissance offices. She practiced breathing exercises in the elevator, but she didn’t feel any calmer when she stepped out onto her floor.

Salvaterre wasn’t behind his desk, but Anna directed her to the desks Elide and the other two had been using all week, and gave her the sample drafts they’d been looking over on Friday. “Basically you’ve just got to read them, annotate and present your thoughts. Good luck!” She smiled and left her to it.

Elide was slashing words into the innocent paper when Salvaterre finally made an appearance. He seemed a little uneasy. Good.

“Can I talk to you for a moment in my office, Elide?”

***

Salvaterre sat on the edge of his desk; his usual seat of choice. Elide leaned against a wall.

He didn’t seem to know where to start. “I, um, I was wondering…”

His fumbling was the last straw. “If I was the barmaid forced to deal with your drunk ass last Friday?” Oh hell, she was gonna be fired for this.

“I take it that’s a yes.”

She felt her face twist into a fake smile. “You bet.” If she was gonna lose her job, might as well go out with a bang. “You ordered enough vodka to bleach the bacteria in your intestines. Then you fell asleep at the bar. You drool in your sleep, by the way.”

His eyes had widened slightly. She held her breath. Now he was going to curse her name to the four winds and then kick her out. Probably literally.

But he did none of these things. Instead, he blushed a delicate shade of pink, and asked in a flat voice. “And did I, during that time, compare you to a flower.”

Elide couldn’t help it. She giggled, more out of surprise than anything else. Salvaterre smiled a little too, a bit sheepishly. “It seems as if you’ve seen me in a somewhat compromising position.”

Elide hiccupped. “Are you... Are you going to fire me, sir?”

“I like how it’s ‘sir’ now, not ‘your drunk ass’… No—“ he continued over Elide (“but you aren’t drunk anymore, sir”) “—I’m not going to fire you. But on two conditions.”

Elide loved conditions. “Okay?”

“One, I would be very grateful if you didn’t tell anyone about…well, anything I’ve done on Friday nights.” Elide nodded, and crossed her heart for good measure. “Two, you should probably call me Lorcan now that I’ve – what did I drool on again?”

Elide counted the items off on her fingers. “Your sleeve, the bar counter, my uncle’s favourite shirt, Richie the bouncer’s left ear and some poor cabbie’s seat coverings.”

Lorcan snorted.

“But okay, si— Lorcan, I mean. But I’m not calling you that in front of the other interns or they’ll probably jump me in an alleyway for Editor’s Pet crimes.”

“I’ll accept that.”

“Agreed, then. But… Do you mind if I ask a question?” Elide scuffed a toe on the carpet. “It’s kind of personal.”

Lorcan shrugged. “You can ask. I can’t promise I’ll answer though.”

“All right… Why did you want to get drunk so bad last Friday?”

Lorcan gazed into the middle distance. “It was…something someone forced me to do. And a part of me that I thought I’d left behind me.”

“You were manipulated?”

Lorcan seemed to realise what he’d been saying. His face closed. “Don’t you have work to do?”

***

Another week passed. They were given projects: each of them had to write their own article about a certain topic. Elide’s was dairy farming. She was ninety percent sure she was being punished until she saw that Asterin and Dorian had been given cage vs free range chickens and battery farming respectively. Was Renaissance planning to raise livestock? Highly mysterious.

Elide’s bar work clashed with the deadline for the piece, so she would have to hand it in on Sunday. The others moaned until she pointed out that they didn’t have to spend their Friday nights heaving drunkards into taxis. Of course, Lorcan walked past at that moment. He levelled a stony stare at her before disappearing into his office.

Asterin had to ask Elide three times why she was laughing so hard.

***

It was pretty quiet at the bar that night. There was a football match on, and only the people who missed out on tickets were in, watching the game on the screens spaced around the walls. Right on schedule, just after ten, Lorcan flopped down on a bar stool. Elide blinked. Was he already drunk? The man leaned his chin on one hand and stared at her. “Vodka, bottle, please.” He slid the money over the bar.

“Uh… Just a second…” She dodged out from behind the bar and into Vernon’s office. “Vodka’s th’ other way!” she heard Lorcan call. He sounded bemused.

Vernon turned to look at her. “It’s… Uh, it’s the guy from two Fridays ago. And he’s already pretty hammered.” His eyes widened, and he peered out the door into the bar. “I can probably distract him, but you should maybe call a cab for him.” Vernon frowned, nodded and hurried out back to where they kept the phone.

Back at the bar, Lorcan was drawing flowers in some spilt beer on the counter. He looked up as she came back in. “Vodka?” he queried.

“No vodka. You’ve had enough for tonight.”

***

Five minutes later, Lorcan was vomiting into a shrub in the bar’s scrubby garden. Elide rubbed his back, and gave him a towel when he finally stopped retching.

He looked unsure about what to do with it. Elide sighed and sat him down on the ground so she could reach his face. Then she took the towel and began to clean him up.

Lorcan was confused. “Elide… Why mmmph—“ the towel had gone over his mouth, but he just kept talking “—we in a garden?” Elide didn’t think it was worth answering. “S’this your fairy garden?” 

She looked around. Vernon wasn’t really into plant maintenance, and she wouldn’t want to be the fairy who lived here. The grass looked like it had been patchily poisoned, and she hadn’t seen a flower grow since after a particularly severe drought when she was twelve. “Yep, this is my fairy garden. I live here with a herd of unicorns and Gary the snail.”

Lorcan wrapped one massive arm around her legs and nuzzled her knees. “I like you. C’n I live in the fair’garden ‘s’well?”

If she moved, she was going to fall over. “Sure. I’ll even let you ride a unicorn.”

Lorcan frowned and released the pressure on her knees. “But… I’d squish ‘t.” She choked back a laugh. Stepping carefully out of his hold, she sat down next to him. “I won’t let you squish it. I’m magic, remember. And so are unicorns.”

Lorcan smiled dreamily, leaned sideways slowly and dropped his head into her lap, where he promptly fell asleep.

“There go my best jeans,” sighed Elide. “The dribble-monster strikes again.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They r sleeping on each other I'm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's 1:30am and I'm still trash (i have done minimal proof-reading of this so it might be crappier than usual but I'll probably edit it later when I'm not falling asleep)

A gentle shaking stirred Elide from sleep. She blinked foggy eyes, and raised her head, meeting Vernon's steady gaze. "Oh... How long have I been out?"

His mouth quirked. "Probably half an hour at most. The taxi arrived but I didn't want to disturb you... or him, if I'm honest."

Her head still felt fuzzy with sleep. "Him...?" Suddenly she remembered. Lorcan. Drunk. Fairies?

She looked down. His head was still pillowed on her crossed legs.

"Holy shit!"

"Shhh, you'll wake the baby," Vernon grinned. Fucker. Scratching his head, he stared down at Elide's editor, emitting little whistles of air in his sleep. "Honestly, I don't think you're getting out of there until he decides to wake up. Which could be tomorrow." Seeing Elide's furious expression, he grinned again. "I'll bring you a blanket."

Sighing, Elide settled in for a long wait.

***

His eyelashes were really long.

Like, ridiculously. They curled, too, resting on his cheeks and twitching as he dreamt. They were incongruously delicate on this huge man. His hair was silky black, falling softly over his cheek, and Elide had to resist the urge to touch it, to run her fingers through it. She must be violating some employer-employee rule just thinking about this.

She continued just the same.

His face was hard. Stone, granite maybe. No soft curves, just chiselled edges. But it was a little more peaceful now, maybe because of the numbing alcohol in his bloodstream. Maybe not. She found herself tracing the lines of his face with her eyes-- No, with her fingertips - when had that started? She needed to stop. She needed to think, to weigh up options and consider the signs.

But not right now. She rested her arms on her boss's massive shoulder, laid her head down on them and slipped back into sleep.

***

Lorcan had the worst fucking hangover of his life.

He really did not want to open his eyes. Not much was clear after he'd stumbled out of the second bar; he could be fucking anywhere. Light was scorching his tender eyelids, and he squeezed them tightly shut, causing a stab of pain through his skull, but-- Was that grass under his fingers? And what was he lying on? 

Very carefully, he squinted one eye open a little. And shut it quickly. Fuck. Steeling himself, he cracked it open again.

Okay?

The garden was sad, scrubby, trademark bar garden, he'd bet his life on it. Not that that was worth much right now. A couple dry leaves drifted past his face, but otherwise the garden was still.

He was lying on-- Were these legs? What the fuck. What the f--

Oh. Elide.

He remembered now. He'd been off his head when he made the snap decision to go to her uncle's bar, to see her. Why, he didn't know. It wasn't like he hadn't seen a pretty girl before. In fact, he'd probably seen, kissed, and fucked more than his fair share. But he hadn't forced them to deal with his 'drunk ass' before, let alone fallen asleep in their laps.

Her slight weight on his shoulder suddenly dawned on him. How long had he been here? He strained to hear her breathing; it was soft and slow. He didn't have the heart to wake her.

Who was he fucking kidding. He would happily die here, in this awful garden, with this tiny, snarky woman using him as a pillow - and not just because of his hangover. 

Although she was probably losing all the feeling in her legs by now. 

Lorcan was just considering what to do about this when she stirred, exhaling in a puff of breath and turning her head against his sleeve. He...wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to startle her by sitting up, but he also knew that she would want to get up soon, move her legs. Fucking hell. 

This shouldn't be that hard, he railed against himself. He was an adult. She was an intern. No big deal. Except he was lying in her uncle's garden with his head in her lap. How did he get in these fucking situations?

He felt frustrated and hot and achy, and she was awake and beautiful and out-of-bounds, and so he sat up slowly, giving her warning, and turned to face her. He reached out, and pushed back some mussed hair from her face. He leaned in past the steady gaze of her brown eyes and pressed his lips gently to hers.

***

Oh.

Lorcan's mouth was soft, unexpectedly so. One of his hands was cupping the back of Elide's head; the other was on her cheek, callused but gentle. His tongue brushed the seal of her lips and she opened for him more on reflex than anything else.

He made a small noise when her tongue touched his own - then, as if it had jolted him out of whatever this was, he pulled back, face red. 

Elide blinked at him.

"I-I'm sorry," he said, staring at the ground. (Was his voice shaking?) "I don't know why I did that."

Elide swallowed. "It...it's okay. You've had a rough night. And..." She suddenly felt the need to focus intently on a nearby shrub. "...It wasn't that bad..."

Silence. She flicked her gaze back to Lorcan.

Pink stained his cheeks still, but he was looking at her steadily. She swallowed again. Intent, he leaned towards her once more--

But suddenly he shook off whatever mood had had a hold over him. "Stupid," he muttered. "Stupid, stupid." Elide sat there, feeling an acute sense of...disappointment? Longing? It was almost painful, acid bubbling in the base of her stomach.

Lorcan visibly braced himself, then rose shakily to his feet. "Uh, so, I really need to get home now."

Elide was still sitting on the ground, trying to recapture the feel of his lips on hers, but at that she was jerked back to the present. "...Right. Okay. I'll get Vernon to call a taxi." And with that she climbed to her feet, squared her shoulders, turned her back to him and strode back into the bar.

She could feel his gaze prickling between her shoulderblades.

***

Lorcan watched her stiff back disappear through the doorway. He stood there a moment, starting at nothing, imagining the taste of her. 

Then with a groan he dropped back into the grass and buried his head in his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What relationship isn't improved by an awkward taxicab ride?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are so nice!!! (i'm kind of afraid because i technically haven't planned this out, i'm just going chapter by chapter and this might just flop at the end, just warning y'all) but i shall do my best to live up to your expectations!!
> 
> sidenote: i live in new zealand where we have to actually call taxis/cabs rather than wave at them even in the cities because there's so few actual people here (compared to sheep populations anyway) so i kind of went with that in this story (also it means the taxis always take ages to turn up which is a helpful plot device huehue) - also we don't have partitions in nz taxis (and we call them taxis, not cabs - i'm just a poser) but i think they're Pretty Kool™ so i put one in
> 
> sidenote 2: "kerb' = "curb" as in edge of footpath/sidewalk, for any americans present
> 
> as always, hope you enjoy, and please leave any feedback!!

The morning sun warmed Elide’s cheeks as she left the bar and stepped out into the street.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Imagined that, in this moment, she was someone else, somewhere else.

It worked for a grand total of eleven seconds. Right as the cab pulled up to the kerb, there was a scuffling noise behind her as Lorcan stumbled over the doorstep. As Elide let out her breath, she tried to send all the emotions she was feeling with it, exhaling the image of Lorcan’s sleeping face, the touch of his lips on her own, on swirling wings into the air. _He was drunk, just kissing the nearest pretty face. It didn't mean anything anyway._

The touch of his hand on her arm jerked her back to reality again.

She squared her shoulders and fixed a wry smile on her face, trying to ignore the bitter feeling in the back of her throat. “As fun as this has all been, you’d better be heading home now.”

Lorcan looked at her oddly, and she could almost have sworn that she saw— Was that… _hurt_ , in his eyes? But in a moment whatever it was was gone, and she was merely facing her boss, calm and sardonic, albeit a little unsteady.

She opened the door of the cab and helped him clamber in. But just as she was about to close it behind him, the driver, who had been studying his massive passenger intently, slid open the window in the partition. “Hey miss, is this the same guy you sent home with me a couple weeks ago?”

Elide blinked. What were the chances she’d get the same driver both times she had to pile her drunk boss into a cab? “If you mean the stupefied one from two Fridays ago, then yeah, I guess it is.”

Lorcan was glaring at her. She pretended not to notice.

The driver gave a single decisive nod. “Thought so. Alright, here’s the deal.” Elide felt her heart sink. What could be the problem? Was Lorcan damaging the suspension? “Last time I drove this guy home, he puked all over my seats. I had to get most of my upholstery replaced, and it was bloody expensive.” Heart settling in her boots, Elide swallowed. Would he refuse to take Lorcan? Would she be stuck with him for another quarter of an hour? She wasn’t sure how that would go, but it wouldn’t be fun. In the back of the cab beside her, the culprit himself was a starling shade of red.

The driver seemed to see their collective embarrassment and anxiety, and hurried on. “I’m not saying I won’t take him.” Elide’s heart began to lift again. “But I want you in the car with him, make sure he doesn’t spew again.”

Her heart plummeted to the tarmac. But Lorcan was looking at her, hopefully she thought, and her resolve began to crumble. “Ok, yeah, I’ll do it,” she sighed.

***

A few minutes later they were headed into the richer side of town, timber houses and corrugated iron roofs turning to lush gardens and elaborate gates outside her window. Elide sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, watching the houses pass and occasionally sneaking a glance at Lorcan’s profile. He didn’t look sick, just tired, but suddenly a question popped into her head – not for the first time – and before she knew it, her lips had spoken it aloud.

“What makes you want to get this drunk?”

Several intersections passed, and Elide was just resigning herself to eternal ignorance when he spoke.

“Her name is Maeve.”

Elide turned to look at him slowly.

“She used to be my boss, when I was an intern at Fanfare Magazine, before I started at Renaissance. She was – still is – beautiful, and charismatic, and smart. Deadly smart.” He sighed heavily. “And to a young boy like me, it seemed an honour to be noticed by her. A privilege. I fell in love with her in my first week.”

Elide nodded, but remained silent.

“Then I found out what she was really like. Manipulative. Sadistic. Fanfare’s articles fed off the suffering of others, and Maeve used lovesick, eager kids like me to get anything she wanted out of people. I’ve done…terrible things, just to get material for that magazine.

“I left Fanfare eventually, started my own magazine, a more straightforward, honest one. I thought I was done with them, with Maeve. But two weeks ago, she asked to meet again, at a café down the street from the Fanfare offices. I’d thought I was strong enough, that I could handle her. I was wrong. Two hours later I was—“ he swallowed “—I was choking the life out of someone who owed Maeve money. She’d told me he had threatened her, that she feared for her life. I was in a blind rage. But this guy… He was eighty years old, living alone in a house that was basically a shed.”

Elide felt a lump form in her throat. She hesitated, sensing that she was making some kind of important decision, and then laid a hand on his arm. He cleared his throat and continued.

“I… I called the ambulance for the old man, and then I went home. I swore I was done for good this time. But for two weeks now she’d been sending me messages, emails; coaxing, apologetic, asking for me back—“ His voice broke.

Elide knew she could be making the wrong choice - he was her _boss_ , and he'd _kissed_ her - but in the end he was another human being and in pain, so she unclipped her seatbelt, shifted closer - so that her arm was just touching his - and took one of his huge hands in her own tiny one. “You…aren’t defined by your mistakes,” she said haltingly. “You were manipulated. The most important thing is that you know what you did was wrong.” She squeezed his hand. “I believe you’re a better person than you think you are.”

He was shaking little, but he returned the pressure slightly. His voice was rough when he spoke. “…Thank you. For listening…and for understanding.”

Later, when he was home safely, and she was heading back to the bar in the cab, she laid her head back against the seats and stared up at the light above her. She wasn’t sure what this all meant for her relationship with her boss, but she knew that some kind of burden had been lifted from her shoulders, and another had settled in its place.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically a long-ass chapter involving Manorian and unexpected boss-employee dancing at a club ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm pretty impressed with myself, it only took nine days to update!! this one was pretty fun to write, though the dialogue might be a bit clunky and i haven't done v much proofreading :/
> 
> anyway, i hope y'all had and are having a gr8 christmas (and/or hanukkah and/or kwanzaa) and that u all have a happy new year! 
> 
> as always, pls leave any feedback and enjoy!!

In the early hours of the morning, she lay awake. No birdsong yet sounded outside her bedroom windows, but still she stared at the ceiling, kept awake by her mind's machinations. 

She turned over all that Lorcan had told her, his barely concealed guilt and loathing, both for himself and for Maeve. Injustice, above plain cruelty or violence, had always fired her up ever since she was young. Now she faced the injustices heaped upon all those who came into contact with Maeve. The youths manipulated into doing her dirty work. The innocents who suffered for a good story in her magazine. Lorcan, now a skilled, even-handed editor on his own merit, brought to a drunken stupor by the thrall that bitch still had over him.

Rolling over onto her side, Elide closed her eyes and made a decision.

Maeve had to be stopped, brought down in some way. Maybe she wasn't up to murder, but there were other ways to discredit her, drag her name through the dust. Maeve had to face justice at some point or she would just continue her reign of cruelty. Spurred on by an icy, controlled rage, Elide began to lay the bare foundations of a plan.

(She refused to think about the influence that a certain man's broken voice and soft lips might have had upon her decision.)

It wasn't until light began to show behind the curtains, and the birds were in full chorus, that she finally drifted off to sleep.

***

"Fuck it."

"What?" Elide startled out of the daze of concentration she had been in.

Asterin was standing in front of her,  arms crossed. "I said, fuck it."

Staring, Elide put down her pen. "Okay?"

The other woman glared at her. "You've been distracted for the last two weeks, every time I say something to you I have to repeat myself twice, you and Salvaterre have been avoiding each other like Dorian avoids accepted hygiene practices--"

"A certain amount of dirt is healthy!" Dorian called from where he was - not particularly subtly - tapping at a PSP under his desk. Asterin ignored him.

"So what's up, Elide? You and Salvaterre--"

"No!" said Elide hurriedly. "Or, well, kind of, but it's not the thing you're thinking of." Seeing Asterin's flatly skeptical expression, she hurtled on. "It involves someone he knows, he told me about, who has done...done some very bad things."

Asterin still looked unconvinced, but she unfolded her arms and leaned on Elide's desk. "I didn't know you two were on such friendly terms."

Elide sighed. "It's a long and convoluted story. Which I can't tell you most of." After a moment's thought, she added, "In fact I've been sworn to secrecy about all the most critical plot points so I can't really tell you anything."

Asterin arched a brow but she let the matter rest. "Okey doke. Well, what I was gonna suggest is that you take a break." Elide blinked. "Oh, not a holiday, you workaholic - in your spare time. Just...you need to do something to relax. Get a load off those shoulders. I was thinking of getting a group together to go out this weekend?" Asterin shrugged, as if it didn't matter either way, but Elide could see something very like concern in the tough girl's eyes. 

"Uh...I've got to catch up on work at two but I'm finished at three--"

Asterin beamed. "Five o'clock, then? Plenty of time to get ready. I'll text you my address!" Before Dorian could do more than open his mouth, she sighed, mock-resigned. "And yes, you can come too, Dorkian. God knows your social skills need an airing." 

Elide snorted.

***

Her bar shift that week passed without event. As with the last two weeks, Lorcan didn't show up to the session on Saturday, designating the task of overseeing her work to Anna. (Elide was not hurt by this. Not at all. In fact she was glad, she told herself firmly.)

At four thirty she was carefully applying makeup; Asterin hadn't specified exactly where they were going, but the rough plan involved going out to eat before most likely heading to a club. Elide was wearing a tiny black dress that she'd bought a while ago but never really got any use out of; she didn't have the right kind of lifestyle, if she was honest. Now she hoped that, with a jacket over the top of the fairly low bodice, she would meet the right kind of dress code for wherever they went for dinner.

At a quarter to five she climbed into her taxi and directed the driver to Asterin's place.

The apartment was just near the Renaissance buildings, she realised, as the taxi pulled up beside the group chatting outside the front door. _Asterin has it easy_ , she thought wryly, climbing out to meet her friends.

As well as Asterin and Dorian, Manon was there, with a smallish but sturdy-looking dog tugging spiritedly at its leash; named Abraxos, this worthy animal was to be deposited with Asterin's neighbour. The cousins were wearing sleek, expensive outfits - at least Elide didn't feel overdressed anymore - and even Dorian had dressed up, in a button-down shirt and slacks, his hair combed through with gel. Asterin had also invited two more friends, a blonde chick and a man with startling white hair, who were both pretty hot (Elide was able to appreciate both the male and female form, though she was generally only attracted to the guys), but obviously a couple. 

Asterin slapped Elide on the back - she winced - and then introduced her to the newcomers. "Aelin, Rowan, meet Elide." They exchanged greetings; both seemed friendly. "You've met Manon already, I believe." 

Manon winked at Elide. "Hooked up with our esteemed boss yet?"

Groaning, Elide raised a hand and turned to go. "If that's what I'm to expect from this evening--" Behind her, Manon and Dorian both burst out laughing.

***

Dinner was amazing. Elide couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun, with a group of people she liked. She'd grown distant from her school friends after high school had ended; their interests had diverged and they'd just drifted apart. Now she remembered what a blast it was to have a group outing.

By the time the main course was over, Dorian, who could apparently muster a great deal of charm when he wanted to, had his arm looped over Manon's shoulders, and was feeding her peeled grapes. ( _Nice touch, Dorkian._ ) Aelin was nestled against Rowan, both grinning while Elide and Asterin debated passionately over the best ice cream flavours.

A few hours later, they were doing shots in a booth in a club, cheering as Rowan downed yet another one, and again as Aelin matched him shot for shot. Eventually the pair finished up and went off to dance. Asterin soon followed, catching the eye of some guy at the bar. Elide was content to relax back into her seat, as Manon and Dorian nuzzled on the opposite bench and finally went to join the rest.

"You good?" Dorian asked as Manon tugged on his hand. Elide smiled and nodded. She was great.

As the music and murmur of voices swirled around her, she made her way slowly through a glass of wine, occasionally catching a glimpse of her friends on the dance floor. She didn't mind being alone - in fact, it was nice to have a bit of a break from the chatter - but the peace did allow traitorous thoughts in which the activity of earlier had not. Thoughts mainly involving a massive guy with dark, curling eyelashes. _What the hell, Elide? Stop it with the mental stalking already._

She really shouldn't have been surprised when a certain massive guy appeared next to her, eyelashes in full display.

"Holy fucking _shit_!"

"Yes, this is becoming a habit, isn't it." The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. "Want to dance?"

Elide stared up at him, cheeks hot for some reason. "But...you've been ignoring me for two weeks!"

He sighed. "Plain-speaking as always. I was trying to maintain some degree of professionalism." Suddenly he looked uncomfortable - Elide thought he might have been scuffing a toe on the floor under the table. "I didn't... I didn't think I could be near you without...uh..."

"Without what?"

His hands went into his pockets and he flushed a little. "Well, I, uh... I felt like... if I was near you...my, uh...feelings...would be obvious...to the staff..." He flushed a deeper red.

Elide felt an absurd desire to grin, but she restrained her emotion to a small smile. "I've no idea how meeting me in a club is more professional, but yes. Yes, I want to dance."

He actually did grin, large and joyful. Holy fuck, that grin was dangerous. This whole situation was dangerous. This had to be breaking some kind of law, right? But still she slid her hand into his and they stepped onto the floor. 

The hours flashed past. As the song changed to a slow dance, and Lorcan took her in his arms, Elide, though somewhat distracted by his size and strength and _there-ness_ , saw Manon wink at her and wiggle her eyebrows. That is, until Dorian grabbed her ass, and Manon grabbed his right back.

They were destined for each other, Elide thought dreamily, as Lorcan's steady arms spun her gently over the floor. Speaking of destiny...

She looked up into Lorcan's eyes, onyx and yet soft, looking down at her since who knew how long ago. He quirked his mouth at her again in that little smile and something seized her heart and she stood on tiptoes, craned upwards, hands linked around his neck--

The kiss was soft and sweet. Tasted of wine and chocolate. Lorcan stiffened for a second, and then responded, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her closer. They pulled back at the same time to breathe, him staring into her eyes. _Are you sure?_

She nodded. He leaned down this time, and this time the kiss was more passionate, her lips parting, his tongue sweeping in, her hands now tangled in his hair. Neither of them cared that they were in the middle of a dance floor. Hell, this was normal enough that the other couples just continued dancing around them.

When they finally pulled back again, Lorcan rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching. His breathing was a little ragged, and for some reason this pleased her to no end. "I have been wanting to do that for two weeks. Actually, I've been wanting to do that since you tried to refuse my drunk ass vodka."

Clearly some of his memories of that night had come back to him. Elide huffed a laughed, but then said prosaically, "You were smashed though, so I'm not sure that time counts."

He planted a kiss on her nose. "Of course it does. I was definitely sober enough to compare you to a flower," he said, winking and pulling her back against him as they continued dancing. 

"Prick," she grinned into his chest.

***

A couple of dances later, he deposited her back at the booth. "I don't want young Blackbeak getting any ideas about, uh,...you and me."

Elide, a firm believer in the uncertainties of life and relationships, let this one slide without comment (for now). However...

"Which Blackbeak don't you want getting ideas?" she asked curiously. 

"Either!" And with that he vanished - all six and a half feet of him - into the throng. 

When the others returned, they agreed to have one last drink before they left. As they all sipped at their glasses - even Aelin and Rowan were going easy on the beverages at this point - Elide was bombarded with winks, nudges and Dorian moaning, "But why didn't you get laaaiid?!" (He was sitting on Manon's lap, and she was doing his hair in little braids.)

Elide quirked an eyebrow. "Really? He's my boss, you moron. Off-limits, Area 51. Ne touche pas. Comprendé?"

From beneath Dorian ("'Comprendé' and 'ne touche pas' aren't the same language, dumbass--") came Manon's muffled voice. "What the hell, girl? Okay, he's not exactly my type, but I'd still hit that, boss or not! Oof--" a scuffle ensued "--easy with those elbows, Dorian!"

Elide shrugged. "I just... It's awkward, is all."

Awkward or not, something seemed to have calmed Elide's obsessive whirl of planning and calculation. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Elide slept the best she had in two weeks, wrapped up in dreams of music and strong arms and laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interns get to write their first real article, and Lorcan has some bro-time with his bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN LIKE FIFTEEN YEARS i kept getting distracted; first i was on holiday, then i was organising stuff for uni (i'm technically still doing that yikes but shoutout to elorcan_trash for reminding me - v nicely - that i was keeping y'all waiting). ANYWAY this isn't a very long chapter but hopefully it won't be so long a wait til the next one... jk i wouldn't do that to u, i'm not that mean.
> 
> as usual, hope u enjoy!!

Lorcan called a meeting in his office the following Monday.

His group of interns entered single file, looking apprehensive: first Dorian, hands deep in his pockets; then Asterin and Elide, the blonde girl whispering something to the dark-haired one that made her grin, before she stifled it guiltily. The smile was like the sun coming out in the tiny office. Lorcan could almost feel the trace of its warmth on his skin. At the same instant, he felt a pang at the easy friendship of the girls. _Why does it even matter to you?_ he wondered. _It's not like you and her--_ But he had to pinch that train of thought in the bud before it went somewhere dangerous.

“You know, the expressions on the three of you could almost cause me to suspect that you have done something wrong.” He paused to let this one sink in. It took a few seconds, but he didn’t miss the signs of relief replacing guilt on their faces - shoulders relaxed, frowns disappeared. God, it was like talking to a group of high school students. Sometimes he forgot how young they actually were.

“I’ll give you a moment to calm your racing hearts.” Asterin now looked suspicious, but Dorian grinned and the corner of Elide’s mouth twitched. “Right. Now don’t get too relaxed, because I have an assignment for each of you. This week...you are each going to write an article for Renaissance.”

Dorian and Asterin’s eyes widened. But Elide was already grinning excitedly at the challenge. Lorcan felt something lurch in his chest at the sight. Her whole face was glowing, and a man could drown himself in those eyes–-

Lorcan realised he was staring.

It was Asterin - _Asterin_ \- who rescued him from a somewhat awkward situation. Clearing her throat loudly, she asked, “You really mean we’re going to be writing articles. . .to be read by the public?”

He wrenched his eyes away from temptation personified and faced Asterin instead. She was smirking. It made it easier to maintain (or maybe pick up the shreds of) his businesslike neutrality when he really wanted to smile gratefully at her. “Uh. . .Yes, that’s right. A real article to go in the issue coming out next month.” Regaining his poise, he continued, “As you know, this magazine is all for free speech, so you can write about whatever you like–-” he caught the speculative glint in Dorian’s eyes “-–within reason, Mr Havilliard. I know it’s hard, but try maintain some class for once.”

He didn’t miss Elide’s soft snort, nor her muttered “Impossible.” 

Glancing in her direction, he resisted the urge to grin at her - what the hell was wrong with him today? - and dismissed them, letting them off from any other assignments until the next issue of Renaissance was published.

Elide was last to file out of the small room. Lorcan had to shut his eyes firmly to keep from gazing at her swinging hips. _Get it together, you idiot_ , he berated himself, trying to mentally slap himself back into shape. But unbidden came the memory of her arms around his neck, and her small waist under his hands. Her huge dark eyes. The softness of her lips–-

 _Shit_. He needed to get out of here.

***

“Okay, as far as I know you’ve never had a day off in your life, so what’s the deal, man?”

Lorcan, who had been staring down into his drink, raised his head slowly to glare at the man who had just slid onto the adjacent stool.

Rowan grinned, unperturbed. “You know it’s true. But let’s pretend you’re a normal guy, out to drown his sorrows in Guinness after locking up the magazine offices up at a reasonable time, rather than an obsessive who works after hours on _Sunday_...”

Lorcan felt an honest-to-god _snarl_ building in his throat. He took a gulp of his beer instead. And choked as it went down the wrong pipe. Rowan refrained from comment as he thumped him on the back, although he had a shit-eating grin on his face the whole time. Bastard.

They’d met at Fanfare. Lorcan had already moved up from intern to working as a full-time columnist for the magazine, while Rowan had an internship there. Usually, a young man like Rowan would’ve been charmed into the job by Maeve’s bewitching combination of beauty and charisma. That’s how she’d captured Lorcan, anyway. But Rowan was different. When he’d joined the company, he had been grieving for the loss of his long-time girlfriend and baby daughter. Cold and distant, he'd stayed detached from the rest of them, though most of the other interns were his own age, and Lorcan only a couple years older. Lorcan suspected that the only reason he’d accepted Maeve’s offer was the need for a distraction, and some kind of masochistic desire to punish himself. It was only meeting his current girlfriend, Aelin, that had made him realise the pain he was causing to others as well as himself. He’d gotten out after that, fast. Maeve had been _furious._

Lorcan hated to think that he himself would have stayed forever if it weren’t for Rowan’s leaving.

They didn’t talk about Fanfare now. But sometimes Lorcan felt it hanging in the air between them and their other friends, a shared experience that the others could never relate to. A skeleton in their cupboards.

Finally surfacing from his coughing fit, Lorcan cleared his throat. “So how’re you and Aelin?”

A look passed between them. Rowan knew Lorcan was changing the subject. He also knew that Lorcan didn’t particularly like Aelin. Lorcan hoped Rowan didn’t know that he sometimes called Aelin _the fire-breathing bitch queen_ , but he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. But Rowan replied without comment. “We’re good. In fact, we’re amazing. Aelin’s just passed her bar exam. We’re going out Friday night to celebrate.”

Lorcan may not have liked the woman, but he knew she had worked hard for this. He also remembered what Rowan had been like before he started dating her. “You’ll have to give her my congratulations!”

Rowan gave him this look like, _I don’t think she’d believe me if I did._ "Yeah, definitely."

Shrugging it off, Lorcan asked, “And the others?”

“Well, Aedion’s got a girlfriend. Friend of Aelin’s.” Rowan smirked, even though Lorcan was sure his expression was perfectly bland. “Her name’s Lysandra, and she’s a tough little thing, but I think they’re good for each other. Actually, speaking of girlfriends…Aelin and I were at Nesryn’s club the other night, and we couldn’t help but notice that you were dancing with one of Manon’s friends.”

_Oh dear._

“Erm…I’d…hoped you hadn’t seen me.” Lorcan shifted his gaze to a beer ring on the wooden bar counter. _Why are you acting like you’ve been caught in a crime? You’re not fourteen anymore, you’re allowed to have a social life._

Rowan scoffed. “You’re taller than I am, and you’re built like a bodyguard. Not very discreet, if you ask me.” His eyes softened a little. “You looked like you were having a good time. Her name’s Elide.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lorcan sighed, heavily. “You think I’d kiss a stranger in the middle of a club? ... _Don't_ answer that.” He took a long sip of his beer, then placed it gently back on the bar. Running a fingertip around the rim, he admitted, “She’s one of my interns.”

He wasn’t looking at Rowan, so he didn’t know what his friend’s expression was. But he heard the other man shift, and then his hand was on Lorcan’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You like her. A lot.” It wasn’t a question.

“I…Yes.”

Rowan’s voice was quiet. “You can’t choose who you love.” Lorcan opened his mouth to protest, but his friend continued. “You can only choose what you do about it.”

Lorcan sighed again. "That's where the problem lies."

"Look. This is the most emotional I've seen you about a woman since...well, Maeve. I don't care if you go right ahead, or if you decide to wait until her internship is finished. Whatever. But for God's sake, don't let her get away. I've talked to her. She's funny, she's smart, she isn't a psychopath with a superiority complex, and for some reason she likes you. Or that's what it looked like when I was waltzing past your snogging faces anyway."

Finally looking up from his drink, Lorcan gazed at the other man...and smiled. "You're a piece of shit, but calling you was the best thing I've done all week."

Rowan winked. "Local love guru, at your service, m'lord."

Lorcan slapped him on the back a little harder than was necessary.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky night activities (not the type u think ;) )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, yes, i am still alive! i'm in my second week of uni, and it's cool, but stressful, and i'm trying to get in the habit of being on top of assignments and stuff so i've been a bit distracted, but here is my somewhat overdue offering for y'all! (it's quite short, but it sorta has to be)
> 
> enjoy!!

_The night is dark and humid; spring has given way to summer, and now the air lies heavy on the moonlit neighbourhood. Nothing stirs in the midnight stillness, except a breeze that brushes through the leaves of the birches that line the streets. But...there! A sudden noise shatters the silence. A figure, dressed in black, treads lightly down a concrete path to a building that lies thickly in shadow. The grate and click of a key in a lock. The squeal of ancient hinges. The door shuts softly behind the figure._

***

Shifting another page towards himself, Lorcan rubbed gently at his temples. It was getting late, even for him, but he knew he still had a lot of work to do. The company took up most of his time these days; it was only talking to Rowan that had alerted him of it. He knew that he never went out for drinks anymore, barely talked to anyone outside the magazine offices.

Idly, he wondered how he had got to this point. It was almost like... Renaissance had become a symbol for all the things that Maeve's company was not. Perhaps every hour of work he put into this magazine was penance for all his sins. No-- Not penance. A denial of what Maeve tried to turn him into. Each stroke of his pen was a stroke against everything Maeve stood for.

Something small inside him wondered though - was his obsession with righting his wrongs robbing him of any real chance at happiness?

Sighing, he straightened the paper on the desk and began to read.

***

_The night is once again peaceful and still._

_But no, not quite still; shiftings and rattlings can be heard from the shadowed building and a light wavers uncertainly from behind dust-caked, bubbled glass. A few moments later, a garage door opens out and up at the front of the building, and the figure wheels out a motorbike, old but built for speed, if you know how to look. The door descends again as the figure mounts the vehicle. The engine splutters into life. A blink, and then the figure is off, speeding away down the dimly lit streets._

***

Lorcan didn't leave work until he was absolutely certain he'd completed every task that he needed to. Of course, his idea of essential tasks varied greatly to that of others, especially his secretary. It was around this time of night that Anna started making curiously old-womanish tsking noises and dropping hints about his lack of sleep and obsession with the company. As usual, he'd sighed and finally given in, mainly because he couldn't think of one more thing that needed doing.

Now as he was driven through the darkened streets, his thoughts settled into a familiar groove like the needle on an favourite record, and he found himself directing the driver past a certain pub and a certain scrubby garden. He allowed himself one long look.

As he went to turn away, he noticed a movement in the corner of his eye. _What--_

It was a small figure in leathers, climbing onto an ancient motorbike. 

The nighttime traveller was off in a moment, at surprising speed for such a decrepit vehicle, but Lorcan had already recognised her, leathers or not.

He scrubbed his eyes, shook his head and mouthed a quick prayer for divine forgiveness. Then he slid back the partition and told the driver, "There's been a change of plans."

The cab made a sharp turn. Then they were speeding down the streets, in hot pursuit of Elide.

***

_The helmet fits snugly over her head, protecting her face from the cold, but the wind sends chill fingers creeping down her collar and up her sleeves._

_It is a long time since she has ridden her mother's old motorbike, but the throttle feels familiar under her fingers, and the throbbing engine sounds like home._

_She needs it, this reassurance, as she hurtles ever onwards through the nighttime. She has a job to do, both for herself and for another._

_The lights are still on as she skids to a halt outside the building. Shadows with zigzagged edges shake hands behind the thin blinds, and music leaks out into the air. The rider removes her helmet, and balances it carefully on the seat of the bike. She looks down and her hands but her fingers are steady. Determined._

_There's no going back from this. But it has to be done._

_She reties her hair in a tight bun, and squares her shoulders. Then the rider strides into the Fanfare offices._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> don't wanna spoillll it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and i'm BACK i'm so sorry this took so long, i just find it hard to stay motivated especially while doing uni work etc etc (fun fact: this is the longest i've ever focused on one story, yikes). apologies for any spelling/grammar errors or repetitive phrasing - i wanted to release this asap so i've done minimal proofreading woops!
> 
> anyway i hope u guys enjoy, and if you wanna pls leave some feedback!!

The door swung outwards easily, hinges freshly oiled. _Figures,_ thought Elide wryly. She stepped inside in a swirl of night air, and the door hissed shut behind her. A single light shone at the end of the foyer, casting deep shadows that stretched out towards her. The carpet was rich and soft; light gleamed on polished wood furnishings. Music and chatter drifted lazily from behind a door off to her left, ringed with light.

She padded across the foyer to the door. Taking a breath, she grasped the door handle. Then, exhaling and twisting the handle simultaneously, she opened the door and stepped inside. 

The room she entered was huge, an auditorium of some sort. Socialites and businesspeople mingled, waistcoated catering staff darting between them balancing platters stacked high with finger foods and champagne flutes. A string quartet played off to the side, and standing on a dias, where she had clearly been making a speech not long before, stood the most beautiful woman Elide had ever seen.

Elide's first thought was simply, _Oh._

Maeve was gorgeous. Her face was heart-shaped, with flawless porcelain skin and red, red lips. Her raven hair fell in carefully curled waves from her high brow, and Elide could've sworn her eyes were...violet? As for her body... Well, enough said about that. (Elide could understand how Maeve kept her workers obedient. Hell, Elide almost wanted to be told what to do by the woman. Almost.) The infamous editor was wearing a deep purple gown that left one shoulder bare, and cascaded to the ground in a waterfall of glimmering silk. _That fabric must be worth more than Vernon makes in a year,_ thought Elide, trying to be stern. She had to admit she was more than a little envious though.

It took some time for the glamour of Maeve's beauty to die down, but when Elide could finally think straight enough to analyse the woman with her usual perceptiveness she noticed the cruelty in the set of her mouth, and the coldness in her eyes. (They _were_ violet. What the _fuck_.) Maeve may have been smiling, but her gaze was pure cold calculation as she exchanged words with a succession of enthralled acquaintances. Elide felt a small shiver run down her spine as the woman turned in her direction...and stared straight into her eyes. _Well_ , thought Elide, _that's that._ And she adjusted her posture, fixed a smile on her face and headed over to talk to her target.

Elide had never taken drama classes or any of that crap, but she was very good at studying others (when they weren't ridiculously attractive) and she had found when she was a child that she could imitate almost anyone after studying them for long enough. She could adjust not just her voice and accent, but her expressions, walk and body language as well, when she wanted to. Now, as she crossed the soft, expensive carpet of the auditorium, she fell easily into one of her most-used attitudes. Based off not one, but several people she'd met over the years, the person she became now was vulnerable and innocent in a way Elide herself was not. A soft, sweet smile, wide, surprised eyes and a soft-stepping walk - as if she were a sparrow about to take flight - were the identifying features of this girl, and Elide could feel the gazes of those who had turned to stare at her turn from accusing to indulgent as she proceeded towards Maeve's dias.

As she neared the woman, Elide began to notice things about her. One, though probably none of her adoring crowd would spot it, Maeve was older than she first appeared. Crows feet were gathered at the corners of her eyes, and the perfect white skin was beginning to hang a little loose about her jaw. Two, Maeve was on edge. Her harsh, piercing eyes kept flicking to the people around Elide, as if searching for an explanation for this turn of events. She looked like a woman who planned for every eventuality, and who now was having to face an eventuality she had never even imagined.

Elide could use this. In fact, it was perfect.

She stepped up to the dias. Maeve peered down at her, and Elide had the irrational feeling that the woman could see right through her. She shook the feeling off, and opened her mouth. But Maeve beat her to it.

"And who might you be?" _God_ , even her voice was gorgeous, husky and melodious. But so cold, Elide almost shivered at the sound of it, ice crawling down her spine.

Mustering her best acting skills, Elide coughed nervously. "I, uh..."

"Yes? I haven't got all day, and judging by your outfit--" Maeve almost visibly curled her lip on the word _outfit_ "--I would assume that you are in the wrong establishment."

Elide let her eyes widen even further at Maeve's tone. "Oh n-no, ma'am, I am supposed to be here! That is... I meant to come here. To talk to you!"

Maeve arched one delicately-pencilled eyebrow.

"You see... I, uh... I'm..." Elide gulped. (This particular action had taken a _lot_ of practice to perfect, and she was very proud of it.) "I'm..."

Maeve drummed a set of immaculately manicured nails on her white leather purse in a delicate but pointed show of impatience. "I grow tired of this conversation already. Cairn!" She went to turn to a member of security, a huge, cruel-faced man.

"No wait!" Elide's voice ran out, high and breathless. She channelled a little of her hidden anxiety into the outward appearance of panic. "I'm Ariana, Athril's daughter!"

Maeve froze, half turned away still. Elide could see her porcelain cheek turn grey. The older woman turned slowly back to face Elide.

" _What did you say?!_ " 

***

There was a dull, confused murmur carrying through the room as people flocked closer to the dias. Elide had drawn a lot of attention with her cry, and Maeve's still-grey complexion was visible to all from her raised perch. Elide's trap was set, now she was ready to spring it.

"You heard what I said!" Elide cried, letting a little hysteria leak into her voice. "I am Ariana Prendergast, and Athril was my father!" She held out a trembling, accusatory finger, and aimed it at Maeve, who seemed to be shrinking where she stood. "My father loved you, gave everything to you! And you k-killed him!" She broke off with a sob.

After a visible struggle with herself, Maeve seemed to rally her poise. Straightening, she gave a brittle laugh. "The girl is clearly out of her mind. Look at her. Take her outside, Cairn." The cruel-faced giant moved forward, smirking. But as Elide fell to her knees, still maintaining the act of scared-but-courageous Ariana, she felt the mood around her changing. It was too late for Maeve to recover the control she had lost. Maybe Elide's performance alone wouldn't have convinced the crowd, but the pallor of the editor's face and the intensity of her reaction had lost her any deniability. Maybe murder was a strong accusation, but she was clearly guilty of something, scared by what this innocent young girl had to say. Elide's job here was done.

Or perhaps not quite. Cairn had pushed his way through the disquieted crowd, and now he plucked Elide bodily off the ground by the collar of her shirt. "You'll regret that, kid," he whispered in Elide's ear, and she let her shiver at the feel of his hot breath show to those around her.

The crowd didn't disappoint. "Hey," said a businessman near her. "Hey! Why don't you leave the girl alone! She hasn't done anything wrong!" Cairn whipped around to glare at the man, who looked more than a little afraid, but others had already taken up the call.

"Yeah! She's just a girl!"

"Get your dirty hands off her!"

"You thug! Pick on someone your own size!"

Elide was hard-pressed to maintain her scared mask, when all she really wanted to do was grin in triumph. Cairn let out a growl beside her, and turned to face Maeve. The older woman had sunk into a chair, but at Cairn's unspoken question she pointed a hand that shook with ill-controlled rage and humiliation at the door out to the foyer. "Get _rid_ of her." And with this misguided sentence she drew the audience's judging gaze back to her, and they judged her wanting.

Elide was almost too busy craning to hear the insults being thrown at Maeve to notice that Cairn was dragging her out of the auditorium. But when they passed through the door and into the abrupt, cloaking darkness of the foyer, she felt the beginnings of true apprehension. And by the time Cairn had pushed her out into the street, with a muttered "Don't want to get blood on the nice new carpets..." Elide's scared demeanor was no longer an act.

As Cairn finally turned around to face her, and cracked his huge knuckles, Elide closed her eyes and steeled herself.

She heard the hissing of a fist through the air and--

_THUMP._

A body collapsed to the ground, but it wasn't Elide's.

She cracked open an eye.

"Look, if you wanted to play at being a secret agent, you could at least have brought some backup," said the man before her, highly exasperated.

"You were too big to fit on my motorbike," said Elide, her voice breaking on the last word, and she ran straight into Lorcan's arms.


End file.
